


I'm broke(n)

by AquaMarinara



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: (Not), Betty runs the kissing booth, Canon compliant until 2x10 and then AU, F/M, Free Hugs!, I saw Hart's instastory and couldn't resist, I'm Sorry, M/M, Some angst but mainly fluff, What should have happened in 2x11, because I couldn't help myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 15:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14335356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaMarinara/pseuds/AquaMarinara
Summary: 'Toni’s eyes glint as she faces him again. “So if we, let’s say, find you anything—absolutely anything—for free, you’ll take it?”“Sure,” he scoffs as he leans back on his elbows and looks up. The clouds are crowding over the festival, and a chill passes through the air. “If you spot something, I’ll take i—”“There!” Toni interrupts him, shouting excitedly as she points to what seems to be a kissing booth. A huge red lipstick mark covers the center of the stand, and on its right is a “Hugs Free!” hand-painted on in the same shade of crimson.Suddenly, a blonde head pops out from behind the polk-a-dotted curtains, and Toni chokes down a laugh.The clouds thunder above him.'orJughead Jones and Betty Cooper find themselves arriving separately at the Pickens Day Festival, but leaving wrapped around each other.orIt didn't stick.





	I'm broke(n)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how to copy pictures into fics, but if I did...*insert Hart's instastory of him in a kissing booth here*
> 
> I've had this idea floating around in my head for months, but have been way too busy studying, traveling, working, etc. to write it down. But I had a few spare hours today and decided to dedicate them to this little fic.
> 
> It's canon compliant until 2x10 (or, at least, as canon compliant as my memory serves. Was Josie a Vixen back then? I can't remember. For my purposes, she isn't) and then becomes a total AU. The Serpents didn't become social justice warriors and the Lodges aren't scheming their way to total domination.
> 
> As always, this is unbeta'd and definitely full of mistakes. It's late and I'm too tired to fix them right now. (Sorry not sorry.)

Jughead Jones is a masochist—has self-identified as such since he first learned the definition of the word. Well, not the first definition. Innocent second-grader Jughead hadn’t quite grasped the idea of “sexual gratification” just yet. (A quick urban dictionary search would later explain _that_ to him on a much more recent—and lonely—Saturday night.)

No, little Jughead Jones was much more versed in the chaste, Olaf-type levels of self-destruction (unlike the naive snowman, Jughead _knows_ he’ll melt under the summertime sun, yet continues to fantasize about the oppressing heat of the season). Even as a kid, he found torturous situations to be an entertaining way to pass the time.

Reggie Mantle had been popular even in elementary school. After losing a pretty notorious tussle with the fifth graders over the kickball field, all the boys in Jughead’s second grade class had retreated behind Reggie to the large pyramidal spiderweb of ropes in the center of the playground—all, except for one beanie-wearing weirdo, who was willing to lose some time with his best friend Archie if it meant he could stay as far away from Reggie Mantle as possible. Most days Jughead retreated to the bench on the edge of the field, content to observe and record the frivolous nature of his classmates, despite Archie’s protests.

But the redhead eventually wore him down, and one crisp autumn day Jughead found himself at the edge of the spiderweb, seated precariously on a horizontal rope, gripping tightly to the interwoven cords in front of him.

(Maybe there was a little thrill in that.)

“My dad’s the worst,” Reggie was complaining to the others. “So embarrassing. I try to bring a girl over to my house for dinner, and he’s just cracking ridiculous jokes.”

Jughead tried to stifle his anger; he knew what he was getting into when he let Archie drag him over. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to punch Reggie in the nose—Jughead’s dad was capable of much worse than a few lousy one-liners.

“Like, when Katie was over last night.” A few guys around Jughead squirmed, and he rolled his eyes. As much as Reggie was “aware” of those of the opposite sex, the rest of the grade was aware of the “cooties” associated with them. “My dad whips out one of his classics: Did you know the first French fries weren't actually cooked in France? They were cooked in Greece.” Reggie groaned, while some snickers escaped the peanut gallery.

And Jughead, overtaken by the urge to correct Reggie (or, if he’s being honest with himself, an oh-so-stupid need for the thrill of danger), decided to open his mouth and reveal himself to the hawks. “Actually, there is an ongoing debate between Belgium and France over which country invented fries first. Belgians claim to have a manuscript recounting that potatoes were first fried before 1680 in the—”

“Nobody asked for your opinion, weirdo.” Reggie’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t judge my dad’s jokes when you don’t even got a dad.”

“Biology dictates I have a father, Reggie.”

“Just ‘cause he’s around doesn’t mean he’s _around_ , if you know what I mean.” Jughead knew perfectly well what he meant, as did the other boys. It was no secret that FP Jones placed other priorities over being a father to his kids. And it was the underlying truth to Reggie’s statement that had hurt Jughead the most that day; he couldn’t blame Reggie for anything other than exposing reality.

Jughead had known that venturing too close to the fire would get him burned, but he hadn’t been able to resist the pull.

And on another day later that fall, he was once again drawn to the flames. Literally.

He swears he’d only swiped his father’s lighter that morning in an uneducated effort to rid his father of easy access to one of his many vices. Jughead had reasoned that hopefully, after a few days without a lighter, FP would be able to give up smoking (Jughead hadn’t counted on FP using the last of that month’s grocery money on a new one).

But addiction runs in the Jones family, and after a few times of flicking the Bic lighter on, Jughead cherished the thrill that came with the roll of the sparkwheel under his thumb. And when the flame drew too close to the leaves of the bush next to the bench, he watched it grow.

Sheriff Keller would blame his neglectful upbringing and troubled nature. Jughead would blame his Jones blood and the associated self-destructive tendencies.

It is because of those tendencies that he now finds himself at the Pickens Day Festival, having allowed Toni to drag him along with the other Serpents.

“Why so glum, Jones?” her two pigtails bob as she licks her snow cone. It’s another fall day—albeit a few years after the arson debacle—and her pink hair fits the aesthetic more than she’d probably like to admit.

His fingers pick at the straws of hay poking out from the bales they’re sitting on. “Why are we here, Toni?” It’s a question he’s been asking himself since the toe of his left boot first crossed over the edge into Pickens Park. The festival was a predominantly Northside event, and after his first week back at Riverdale High, he knows more than ever that the Serpents are unwelcome on that side of town.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m here to have fun,” Fangs comments from behind him, eyes scanning the crowd. (Jughead thinks his friend’s looking for a certain not-so-closeted gay to have fun with. Unfortunately, the only northsiders Jughead’s ever had fun with definitely don’t want to see him.)

“While you all might be excited to mingle with the northsiders, I’d much rather stick to our typical crowd. In fact, I think I’m gonna head back to the Wyrm.” He plants his hands down on the hay bales, ready to push himself up and off towards his bike, when Toni grabs his jacket.

“Lighten up, Jones.” She rolls her eyes. “We’re just here for the food. The Wyrm might serve fries crispier than Burger King’s, but that’s about all it serves. So go grab yourself a hot dog and relax.”

“You know I’m broke, right?” That wasn’t totally true, but Jughead would much rather spend his last remaining dollars on some quality Pop’s than a mushy hot dog grilled by a WASP northsider.

“Who said anything ‘bout paying?” Sweet Pea retorts with a toothy grin. Toni just knocks back the remaining flavoring at the bottom of her snow cone after shooting Jughead a wink, and he sighs.

“I know we’re in a gang and all, but petty theft? Really?”

“Fine. If you want to be a model citizen,” Toni’s lips curl with sarcasm, “let’s find you something for free.” Her pink pigtail nearly smacks him in the face as she whips her head to look around.

“Hah, as if northsiders would ever give up an opportunity to make a profit.”

Toni’s eyes glint as she faces him again. “So if we, let’s say, find you anything—absolutely anything—for free, you’ll take it?”

“Sure,” he scoffs as he leans back on his elbows and looks up. The clouds are crowding over the festival, and a chill passes through the air. “If you spot something, I’ll take i—”

“There!” Toni interrupts him, shouting excitedly as she points to what seems to be a kissing booth. A huge red lipstick mark covers the center of the stand, and on its right is a “Hugs Free!” hand-painted on in the same shade of crimson.

Suddenly, a blonde head pops out from behind the polk-a-dotted curtains, and Toni chokes down a laugh.

The clouds thunder above him.

 

~~~

 

Betty Cooper knew she would regret joining the Vixens eventually. As much as she loved being a cheerleader, she always suspected Cheryl’s dictatorship would land her in more than one uncomfortable situation. She’s just surprised it’s taken this long.

As soon as the list had popped up, taped to the Vixens’ locker room walls, she had protested wholeheartedly. 

“I just don’t understand, Ronnie,” she’d whined to her best friend while lacing up her Keds. “Why do I have to run the kissing booth?”

“You’re the only single—and hot, may I add—Vixen, B! Of course Cheryl’s going to assign you to that position.” 

“Cheryl’s single!” Betty had retorted, arms flailing to emphasize her point.

“Ok, let me rephrase. The only single, hot, _available_ Vixen. Cheryl’s all too willing to volunteer the cheer squad to help out at the festival, but she won’t actually do the work herself. And she’d never kiss _filthy_ ” Veronica draws the word out with a high society accent, “strangers, so the kissing booth was always out of the question for her.”

 _Screw Cheryl and her idea of PR_ , Betty thinks as she flips the booth’s sign from CLOSED to OPEN.

She pulls a stool up behind the stand and sets herself down (she’s not about to stand on her feet while waiting for “customers” for the next few hours) when Reggie Mantle saunters over. _Figures he’d be the first one to show up_.

“How much for a smooch, blondie?” he asks, a smirk transforming his features.

“Can you read? Because it says it right on the booth.”

His eyes scan the lower-half of the wooden stand before falling on the 25 cents sign. “So cheap, eh, blondie?”

“Cheryl has a lot of self-worth, but not so much when it comes to others.”

“Lucky for me.” He drops a quarter carelessly into the glass jar and plucks a rose from the bouquet resting on the stand. “For my lady,” he proclaims with a bow as he presents her the rose.

“Never knew you to be into the dramatics, Reggie,” she quips with barely hidden disgust.

“Some Hollywood flare for my Hollywood babe,” he replies as he bends down to kiss her across the booth’s opening.

Betty’s nails scratch into the wood as she forces herself not to pull away as soon as his chapped lips land on hers. There are no fireworks setting off in her mind. In fact, the only things she can think about are just how cold his lips feel against hers and how unbearably long this day is going to be. She’s barely pressing her lips back into his when his lips part, tongue seeking entrance, and she decides that’s enough. Cheryl had never specified exactly how long or intense the kisses should be, but Betty was not about to swap spit with Reggie Mantle.

Reggie blinks his eyes open when she pulls away and begins wiping at her lips with the back of her hand, revulsion clouding her eyes. Even her kiss with Archie hadn’t been _that_ bad.

“Sorry, Mini Coop, I hadn’t planned on bringing more quarters to this thing. Even parking meters take card nowadays.” He rolls his eyes. “But if you want a ride on the Regmeister for free, call me any time.” He winks, sweeping his hand through his hair, and Betty can only think about how decidedly more attractive it is when Jughead does that. And then she scolds herself for remembering him. Because once she cracks into one memory, she falls into that inescapable pit in her mind where he is the only person who matters—he, who turned her down at her most vulnerable, who kicked her away after she did everything to try and keep him, them, and their relationship together.

It hurts too much to think about, so she returns to complaining about how she got stuck with this horrible job. Despite Reggie never getting past her lips, her mouth feels dry and sticky at the same time, so she crosses over to the patch of grass where she left her bag and pulls out some mint gum she’d brought just for this occasion. (Coopers always come prepared.)

Mindlessly chewing on a stick of her gum, Betty sits back down on the stool and checks her phone. Veronica had found some time during her shift at the popcorn machine to text Betty a quick _Hows your day going? Mine sucks. My Louboutins keep sinking into the grass._

The blonde chuckles and is about to respond when a small cough distracts her from across the stand. With his hand running through his dark hair (a nervous habit she always found—and still finds—extremely sexy), he tugs on the sleeves of his leather jacket before choking out, “Hey, Betts.”

He has the decency to look bashful, considering he did rip her heart out of her chest a few nights ago. Even with all evidence pointing to the contrary (she’s working at kissing booth—he’s standing in front of said booth), she crosses her fingers that he’s here for anything other than a kiss.

“Hey, Jug. What’s up?” she asks with a small smile. They’re not dating anymore—he doesn’t need to see her crazy anymore. So she should at least put in the effort to smile for him.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” 

“Act like- like we haven’t gone through, you know, what we’ve gone through.” He’s wringing his hands together, and Betty knows she should attempt to be sympathetic to his nerves, but she only feels angry right now. She plants her hands down on the wooden booth and stands on the balls of her feet to match his height.

“And what have we gone through, Jug? We were together, now we’re not. We used to be a team, now we’re not. Because you didn’t think I could handle your darkness or something. Because you didn’t- don’t think you can protect me from your life. So you just decided it was best to leave me. You took my agency away from me, Jug, don’t you see that?” She’s angry to the point of tears now, but she doesn’t care enough to wipe them off her cheeks. “Because if it had benn my decision, I would have done anything possible to stay together. I _was_ doing everything possible to stay together. But I’m done.” She huffs a small, unamused laugh, eyes glistening. “I’m done fighting for something you don’t want. And, you know what, it’s fine that you don’t want it. I’ll get over it. But excuse me for not being able to pretend that everything is _perfect_.” She spits the word at him like a curse and crosses her arms.

She watches with narrowed eyes as he takes an uncertain step closer to her, arm stretched out almost as peace offering before it drops lamely to his side when she doesn’t reciprocate.

“Betts,” he chokes on her name. “I am so so sorry. Of course I want to be with you. You were the girl I always wanted but could never have. When we were finally together, I just couldn’t believe you would go for the weirdo from the other side of the tracks. Then my life just kept getting worse and worse, and I started dragging you down with me.” He reaches out again and rests his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it softly with his thumb just as he’d grown so accustomed to doing. “You don’t deserve that, Betts. You don’t deserve a shitty life just because of me.”

Her lips curl into a sad smile, and she tastes the salt of her tears as she bites her lower lip. “I’d travel through hell and back for you, Jughead Jones.”

His eyes close with a deep sigh. “Even after everything I’ve put you through?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t think I could ever stop loving you.”

His eyes blink open with a smile, moving his hand to brush the remaining tears off her cheeks. “God, I love you, Betty Cooper.”

“Jughead Jones, I love you,” she says slowly, unfolding her arms carefully, and then slaps her palm across his chest—he jumps back in alarm. “But you better not push me away like that again. I determine what’s best for me, got it?”

“Got it,” he reaffirms with a swift nod. “Can I get that free hug now?”

“What?” she asks with a laugh.

“Unless your business practices false advertising, it says right here that hugs are free.” He’s back to being the snarky Jughead she’s missed in the last few weeks—heck, months—, and she thinks she’s never seen him smile so beautifully.

“Oh does it?”

“Yup.” He pops the p at the end of the word, smug.

Grabbing the hem of his S shirt, she tugs him closer and whispers, “Few know this, but for special customers, we offer a lot more than free hugs.” Betty watches him swallow, his eyes now blown back.

“And how does one become a special customer?”

“It’s a highly selective process: applications, interviews, reference checks.” She giggles. “But I think we can make an exception, don’t you?” Jughead doesn’t have a chance to answer before she’s pulling him to her lips, capturing his own in a kiss much more passionate than the one she recently had with another raven-haired classmate.

As she runs her fingers through his dark locks, she silently thanks Cheryl and her screwy PR philosophies. As she wraps her arms around Jughead’s torso when he revs up his bike, she makes a mental note to text Veronica about finding a replacement volunteer. And as she lays tangled up with him in the trailer’s bed later that night, she thinks _thank god it didn’t stick._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought of this little fic. The good, the bad, the ugly--I'd love to hear it all!
> 
>  
> 
> For anyone interested, an update for Blue Sunshine and Golden Rain will be out soon, I promise. But first I need to catch up on all the Bughead fics I missed in the last few weeks. I'm super behind on my reading and commenting.


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